White Collar Advent Calender
by bleachaddic
Summary: Neal gives Peter an advent calender for the holiday season, but being Neal there's a little more than just chocolate in this box. -one drabble everyday till Christmas focusing on Neal, Peter, and the holiday season-
1. The Advent Calender

AN: First of all, Breaking is unofficially officially suspended till January. Moving on, I know this first chapter sucks, but I swear it will be better. This was just an introduction. Basically, in case you haven't already figured it out, I'll post a little mini-fic, probably under 500 words, everyday in December leading up to Christmas because, sadly, I can't send you all actual chocolate, but reviewers will get pie ;D

* * *

Peter Burke sat at his desk casually staring out the large glass window. Thanksgiving was over and it was, much to his dismay, officially the Christmas season. Ugh, December was already bad enough with all the snow, why add putting up lights, shopping for gifts, and the dozen other overly stressful activities that come with the overly consumer-oriented holiday? To Peter, the entire ordeal was a waste of time and money*.

Fortunately (or possibly unfortunately), his witty, ex-con man partner, Neal Caffrey, walked in right then to distract Peter from his holiday loathing. "Hey, Peter," Neal greeted with his usual cheeky grin. Immediately, Peter noticed the man's hands not-so-inconspicuously hidden behind his back.

"Morning, Caffrey. What do you have there?"

Neal's smile doubled, if that was even possible, as he took a step closer to the FBI agent. "Just a little present for my dear partner." Peter rolled his eyes and reached out to take whatever it was that got a former convict excited. Neal happily placed the item in his hands. "It's an advent calender," he explained.

Peter rolled his eyes, again, and protested, "Aren't you a little bit old to be playing with these things?"

"Nonsense. I mean, c'mon Peter, it's a calender full of chocolate and various other little goodies! Don't tell me your too old for happiness. And I'll drop you a little hint, this calender is a bit more...sophisticated, trust me."

Neal stood and turned to leave, leaving Peter to stare blankly at the cardboard box-thing in his hands, desperately wanting to know what he ment by 'sophisticated', with Neal that could mean anything from Swedish chocolates to the location of a missing Van Gogh. Nonetheless, Peter carefully taped it to the large window he was previously staring out. Hopefully, it would at least serve some purpose by helping him to forget the stressful holiday chaos outside his warm, orderly office.

Only 24 days left to go.

* * *

*Amount United States Spends On Christmas A Year- 450 Billion  
Amount Needed To End World Thirst- 10 Billion


	2. The First Box

AN:Thanks twilightgallagherpotternjd, ShadowSpinner, isrocks, AnneWentworth, Dragen Eyez, ExpandingDarkness, J. Rosemary Moss, babyred1995, and Ursula4x for your wonderful reviews, you earned your pie.

* * *

It was December in New York City and it was cold. It wasn't even a mild cold. It was that crazy freezing temperature that has insane environmentalists driving cars instead of walking because it's just that cold.

Nonetheless, on this cold winter day, agent Peter Burke was walking. It was just his luck that as soon as the temperature began to drop his keys would mysteriously vanish and he'd be stuck trudging through the snowy streets of New York.

When Peter finally arrived, tired and frozen, at the office he couldn't help but thank god for heating. As soon as he had sat down at his desk Neal Caffrey magically appeared from wherever he wastes his time when Peter is MIA.

"Hey, Pete. How you doing?" Neal greeted but after one look at his worn-out partner quickly moved on to a different topic. "So, what cases do we have today?"

"Well," Peter said glancing at the stack of files lying on his desk, "We have theft, theft, or... theft."

Neal laughed slightly, "What is it about Christmas that makes people steal so much. I thought this holiday was about giving, not taking."

"You would know."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"I believe it was last year on Christmas, you stole that weird abstract painting. And the year before that there were all those fake bills going around. Are you telling me none of that involved you?"

"You never proved it did," Neal argued not once letting any hint of doubt show. "Anyways, did you even open today's box on your calender?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Contrary to what you might believe, the world doesn't revolve around you. I have more important things than holiday cardboard full of chocolate."

Neal shrugged, "Your loss," and left the room to go find entertainment with someone a little less depressing.

Peter leaned back and sighed. He sat staring at the advent calender taped to his window. 'What the heck,' he thought. 'It's been a long day. I've earned it.' He pulled the calender down and began to open the first box. As he did so, he could hear something jingle inside. When he opened it he saw it glitter brightly and his hand felt cold hard metal and ridges along one side when he reached in to pull it out.

The FBI agent stared dumbfounded at the object in his hand for a moment before his mood rapidly turned sour.

"NEAL!!!!"


	3. The Second Box

AN: Special shout-out to peaber for pointing out that Neal couldn't have stolen a painting last year since he was, indeed, in jail, and let's face it, even Neal isn't that good. Enjoy your pie, you earned it. Sadly, though, no one else gets any 'cuz I may or may not have eaten it all. ^-^  
Enjoy!

* * *

After yesterday's incident with the key, the first thing Peter did when he got to work was open the second little box on the advent calender. Part of him expected to find his credit card or maybe even his wedding ring tucked inside the calender but was surprised to pull out a 3x5" picture of Neal and himself sitting together smiling at an outdoor cafe. He stared at the photo dumbfounded for a few moments wondering when exactly it had been taken. Was Mr. Haversham secretly stalking them with a camera, which would be seriously creepy, or had Neal simply found a way to hack into a street cam? Maybe it was photoshopped? With Neal, being an art forger and all, you never could really tell.

Nonetheless, Peter just stared a it for a while before finally turning it over and reading the note beautifully written in black ink on the back. It went:

_For Your Christmas Card,  
__NC._

The FBI agent let out a sigh of relief, glad it wasn't anything like yesterday's. Immediately afterwards, he began to laugh out loud at the thought of sending friends and family a picture of him casual hanging out with a criminal. By now they all knew the story of chasing and catching Neal, but few knew of the current arrangement. He could only imagine their faces when they opened the envelope to this.

Continuing to stare at the image, Peter began to get completely absorbed in the happy, cheerful smiles plastered on their faces, the soft curve of their smiles, the whiteness of their teeth, the brightness in their eyes, and couldn't help but think back to all the times he's spent with Neal, both hunting him down and working beside him, and not once did he remember such a bright, vivid, honest-to-goodness smile like the one now staring Peter right in the face. Sure, the ex-con smiled a lot. He was just always that happy-go-lucky kind of guy, but Peter could tell this smile was different. It wasn't just charms or a laugh at a small joke, but pure happiness. Peter and Neal were together and they were happy. As simply as it was, it was also unimaginably true.

Criminals don't exactly have an infinite number of friends. Sure, there's tons of business partners and cute blondes, but let's face it, they're really only good for one-night stands. Neal's only ever had one person he loved. Kate. There was Mr. Haversham, but they were partners in crime and with that relationship there was always a slight wall of defense being built. Obviously, Neal could never tell the other man everything, like where he'd hidden the entire stash of stolen goods. It was a relationship that couldn't make spark this same type of happiness.

For agent Peter Burke it was the same. All work and no play. For once he remembered what friends were for, both to hate and to love.

Suddenly, footsteps could be heard coming towards Peter's office. Quickly, he scribbled down a note on the back of the photo underneath the previous one and slide the picture into the frame on his desk convering another picture of him out fishing. Next thing, Neal enters the room and greets his partner with a warm, welcoming smile and says, "Coffee machines broken. Want to come on a coffee run across the street with me?"

Peter smiles and stands, "Sure thing, partner."

Together they leave, and as they do the ink from the message Peter wrote rubs off onto the photo behind leaving the words

_ Behind us are memories,  
Beside us are friends,  
Before us are dreams that will never end._

inscriped across the skyline.


	4. The Box From Midnight

AN: So tired, it's basically midnight here in the EST (Eastern Standard Time). Meh. Try not to be too critical, it's late and it's been a long day. Enjoy. Ah, by the way at the end it was suppose to be a heart, but the site wouldn't except it so I was stuck with the other emoticon. Deal with it.

* * *

Sneaking through the FBI building in the dead of night probably wasn't the smartest idea Neal ever had, but there are some things in life you just have to do. For an ex-convict gone FBI that includes sneaking around your partner's office to re-experience the thrill of a heist.

It just so happened that this particular night Peter had decided to rearrange the entire layout of his room, including adding two bleach-white chairs. Of course, Neal was unaware of these changes and proceded to, in the dark, trip over the leg of one of the chairs and fall. Hands flailing in a desperate attempt to catch himself, Neal managed to snag something off the desk. It was the old picture frame. Sadly, though, this was not enough to stop his moment and he fell to the floor, his right palm crushing the glass protecting the photo of Peter and himself. Bits and pieces of the frame dug into his hand, cutting his skin, and causing blood to pour out onto the picture and into the carpet.

Neal silently cussed under his breathe as he gently eased himself into one of the new chairs. Carefully, he began to pick glass shards out of his bloody palm. It didn't take him long to run into the problem of finding a place to put the pieces. Desperate and in much pain, Neal stuck the shards in the first place he could think of. Cleaning up as best he could, the con man made his way swiftly out the door away from the scene of crime.

---THE NEXT MORNING---

"Neal!"

Neal stuck his head into the Peter's office where the other man was standing, an angry expression on his face. Neal tried to keep an upbeat expression, but it was hard when he was forced to look straight at the mess he had made last night. Damn, he can really bleed.

"What'd you need, Peter?"

Peter gave him a no-nonsense death-stare, saying nothing.

"I swear I can explain."

Peter continued to glare.

"Say, did you even open the box for today?"

"Don't change the topic."

Neal inwardly smiled, the conversation shifting into his favor. Slowly, but still, shifting.

"At least take a look."

Peter rolled his eyes and finally broke, turning to open the third box on Neal's version of an advent calender. He carefully pulled the tab off and pulled out the contents inside...

Bloody glass shards. Neal had given him bloody glass shards. Peter had to admit, this was definitely the most interesting idea his partner has ever had. Peter turned back around to protest the strange gift, but found Neal had already fled the premises.

Much to his surprise, though, Peter found Neal's trademark hat left lying on the floor. Intrigued, he picked it in hopes it might answer some of the questions swarming in his head. Not surprisingly there was more blood under the hat. Peter had to give the man credit, he could make one hell of a mess. Under closer examination, he found that there was almost a certain shape to this particular stain. He squinted hard, determined to make out the symbols that would forever scar his lush new carpet.

_^-^  
NC..._


	5. Reinvent Love

AN: Oops, Peter left the calender at the office...

* * *

Chaperoning Neal around town so he could check out the stores outside his radius was the last thing Peter wanted to spend his Saturday doing. Yet, the promise of help with Christmas lights was just to tempting.

So there Peter was walking around downtown New York City with a charming, witty ex-convict in the dead of winter. Needless to say, Peter wasn't happy. He was just about to ditch Neal to go home to his warm house and loving wife and simply pay someone to put up lights when Neal suddenly stopped in front of a fancy jewelry store, you know, the kind where you can't even afford the free mints on the checkout counter.

Nonetheless, here was Neal intently staring in the window of the store, eyes set on a fancy diamond necklace. Peter stopped and stood beside the man. He couldn't help but pity him, there was no way Neal's salary would cover that. Former criminals aren't exactly at the top of the payroll and all.

After a long moment of silence, Neal finally speaks. "Kate would have loved this."

Peter bit back saying, 'Just face it already, she dumped you. Move on.' Instead he simply stood in silent understanding. It was Christmas, the time of giving, appreciation, and love. It was Christmas and Neal was all alone.

Neal sighed and looked down at all the bags he was already holding. "Well, I guess I'm done for the day. See you." As he began to turn to walk away, Peter's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Why don't you stop by for dinner," he said.

"What happened to never ever going to your house? Is there something I missed? Are you dying?!"

"Don't push it."

Neal flashed his trademark smile and abruptly turned to leave, quickly blending into the crowd.

---THAT NIGHT---

This was a really stupid idea. Letting Neal into his house, what was Peter thinking? Oh right, he wasn't.

So there Neal was, casually flirting with his wife and getting all buddy-buddy with his dog like Peter wasn't even there.

Yes, this was definitely a really stupid idea.

---EARLIER THAT DAY---

Neal sat on a hard bar stool watching the people around, most of which not even bothering to give him a passing glance.

His plan was to buy the necklace he had been looking at previously with Peter. While he couldn't easily purchase it with the money he had stored from before jail got in the way, but this was something he wanted to do the honest-to-goodness way. He already had free room and board so most of what little money he was paid for his FBI job was saved. He'd withdrawn all of it from the bank but found he was still a few bucks short.

Though, I don't know exactly how honest cheap bar games can be considered.

Anyway, Neal had just one another round. The trick was easy really. Bet a random guy you could drink two glasses of beer faster than he could drink two shots of hard liquor. Obviously, he'll take that bet. Then lay down some ground rules like one hand only, no shoving, and no touching the other's glass. He'll agree easily and then you both bet, the higher the better. As your about to say go suddenly add in that since the wager is a little unfair that he shouldn't be allowed to touch his glasses until you finish your first beer and place it back onto the table. At this point, he won't care anymore and agree. You drink your beer, slowly, let them think they'll definitely win. When you go to put down the glass turn it upside and cover one of their shots with it. Since they can't touch your glass, they can't win. Drink the second beer in victory, take the money, and promptly walk away.

---LATE THAT NIGHT---

Peter heard a loud scream come from his bedroom. In a panic, he rushed up the stairs and bashed through the door fearing the worst.

Standing in the center of the room was Elizabeth, her back towards him. Tears could be seen shimmering down her face as she turned to face her husband.

"Oh, Peter," her voice cracked. "It's beautiful." She threw herself onto him, embracing him in a passionate hug. "Thank you so much."

Peter held his wife. When he pulled back he found a stunningly gorgeous woman, eyes as bright as the shiny, new diamond necklace sparkling around her neck.

---___---

Neal stepped out of the bitter cold into the warmth of June's mansion.

"Where have you been? Making a girl happy, I don't suppose," She teased.

He smiled to himself and headed up the stairs. "For the most part," he said, not bothering to mention who he truly had in mind. "Just reinventing love."


	6. To Light a Tree

AN: True story...

* * *

Waiting till after it starts snowing to put up Christmas lights is the number one cause of holiday casualties.

Yet there was FBI agent, Peter Burke, standing outside in the freezing cold calling out to his partner, Neal Caffrey, as he climbed a tree in an attempt to fix some lights.

It all started that morning when Neal arrived at Peter's house to help as per promise from yesterday's shopping. When he'd arrived, Peter quickly began to explain how his wife, Elizabeth, wanted them to light the entire tree in the front yard. Let's just say the tree wasn't exactly arm-length. And so the challenge began to string lights at the very top. After many failed attempts, they had the idea to tie the strand to a dog toy and throw it to the top of the tree. There's was no logic to this plan, only hope and pure desperation as with everything involving the holiday season. So anyway, it took a few tries for the toy to reach the very top, but when it finally did, much to their dismay, it became tangled and stuck on the highest branch.

"Now what," Neal asked unsure of what to make of the situation.

"Climb the tree and get it," Peter replied.

Neal hesitated, sizing up the tree. "You know I think it looks nice how it is."

Peter glared. "Climb the tree, Neal," he said with a firm FBI voice.

"I would, but you're more properly dressed. You should do it!"

"That's your fault for wearing a Devour. You knew we were putting up lights."

Neal rolled his eyes, "Yes, but no one said I would have to climb a tree."

"Look, you either climb the god damn tree or say good bye to your Chase Saphire."

The ex-convict let at an audible sigh, clearly annoyed, before giving in and passing the trademark hat to Peter. It took the man only a few minutes to scamper the entire height of the tree and reach the dog toy. In a hurry to get out of the snow laden tree, he quickly began to untangle the strand from the trees many branches. It didn't take long to separate the two, but Neal soon found he too was separated from the tree.

The scene played in slow motion before Peter as the partner he came to know and love fell backwards off the tree. In an instant, Peter seemed to be under the man prepared to stop his fall. It never came. Peter looked up to find Neal hanging, literally, by one leg six feet in the air with arms and legs flailing about wildly. His left foot had gotten caught in a length of lights, stopping his fall but also leaving him in a very strange, awkward position.

Peter stared in shock for a moment before bursting out in laughter. It sort of looked like a poorly made Christmas ornament.

Neal glared harshly at his partner. "A little help here?"

"You know," Peter said between bits of laugher, "I think you're right. It does look nice how it is." Peter turned to head inside quickly before he completely lost it.

"Peter, I swear..." Neal called after him but the door was already closed.

Inside Elizabeth greeted Peter, asking him how the lights went. "Oh yeah," he replied, "Neal got really _into it_."

Maybe Christmas lights aren't such a bad thing after all...


	7. The Sixth Box

AN: My apologies, I fell asleep and woke up at midnight when I remembered I needed to write something...

* * *

"Five minutes was funny, but ten, ten minutes, Peter, was just plain cruel."

"Be thankful I got you down at all."

Neal and Peter were casually arguing during their lunch break in Peter's office. Neal still hadn't forgiven him for the whole Christmas lights incident yesterday. Finally, Peter simply rolled his eyes and looked around for a new topic.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to open the advent calender for the days over the weekend," Peter said quickly reaching to find the prize inside.

Neal protested. "You have to open a box on its specific day. You don't get a prize since you're opening them two days later."

Peter rolled his eyes and tore the calender open anyways to find. . . nothing.

"Told you so," the ex-con mocked. In a way, Peter was almost happy they were empty. Some of the gifts so far hadn't exactly been 'merry.' But he still had that days box left to open, which he quickly did.

Out came a small, black box about two cubic inches big. The FBI agent stared at his partner for an explanation, in which came a "Oh, that's a good one."

"What exactly is that suppose to mean?"

"Well," Neal explained, "what's inside is very fragile and there's a special way to open the box. If you do it wrong what's inside will break."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I suppose the answer is a little more thought-provoking than finding a missing key." Neal nodded in response. "And I suppose you'll give me a clue, right?" Another nod.

"Well, I'd start at the Modern Museum of Art."

"You'd start there regardless." Neal grinned cheekily and turned to depart, leaving Peter staring at the small, black box in confusion and wonder.

**TBC...**


	8. How Much Have We Really Grown?

AN: Need ideas. . .

* * *

Peter and Neal sat around the office casually eating the chocolate Neal had stuck in the advent calender for that day. Not a very original idea, but, hey, it was _swiss chocolate_ which basically makes it the best gift yet.

Anyway, they were sitting there and after awhile they began to speak of childhood Christmas memories. Remembering all the presents they got (and some they didn't), the food they ate, the time spent in both happiness and joy.

Peter went first talking of the so called 'elves' that use to leave chocolate every night in December like an advent calender except without the calender part. Neal laughed and said how he use to find the elves' secret stash and eat all the candy days in advance.

Peter talked of snooping around trying to figure out what people were getting him. Neal smiled and said he use to open the presents, rearrange them, and wrap them back up. He loved seeing everyones' faces when he opened a fancy, new watch and his dad was stuck with Boggle.

Peter talked of spending happy Saturday afternoons baking cookies with his mother. The smell, the flavor, the time spent with someone whom was usually to busy to see him. Neal joked about mixing flour up with sugar. The taste, the look on people's faces, the time spent in his room grounded.

Peter went caroling. Neal stole from the donation box. Peter spent hours on homemade gifts. Neal wrapped the picture off his mom's desk. Peter shoveled the driveway. Neal hosed the road.

And to think Neal became a criminal. . .


	9. Of Puppies and Pictures

AN: Thanks to Shadow-L-Chan and Dragen Eyez for the story ideas. Plan mistakes and lack of creativity on impossible amounts of homework...

* * *

It was a Wednesday afternoon. Peter was suppose to be at work, but somehow Neal had convinced him otherwise. By some strange twist of events they ended up standing in line at a local animal shelter for some lame fundraiser involving pictures, puppies, and Santa. Everyone there was smiling brightly except, of course, the old grinch, Peter.

Neal nudged him and said, "C'mon, Peter, smile! You're about to have your picture taken with cute, bouncy puppy-dogs and a fat, old man in red. You should be happy!"

Peter rolled his eyes and responded, "Some of us have actual jobs to do."

"Oh, that was mean," Neal said before quickly being distracted by a pretty female elf. Swiftly, he left Peter to stand in line and began to flirt with the elfette. His partner only rolled his eyes and continued to wait his turn.

Roughly ten or twenty minutes later, Peter was at the front of the line. He was just about to step up to have his picture taken when he suddenly realized there was no sign of Neal. Angry and frustrated since he didn't even really want to be there anyway he began to leave determined to let the ex-convict walk through the freezing cold back home when Neal finally decided to make himself visible.

Together they made their way awkwardly to Santa's lap. The jolly imposter kept well to his role and smiled at the odd pair. Immediately, Neal conjured up a sappy story about some child of Peter's whom they could never see because he was terminally ill with cancer and had moved to California for treatment, so they were going to send this picture to him to hopefully cheer him up. He didn't forget to wink at the elf-chic either who, at this point, thought Neal was the most romantic, thoughtful, and selfless person around.

Finally, the picture was taken. Peter began to make a mad dash for his car when he realized Neal had wandered off once again. This time, though, he was easy to locate, holding hands with elf and promptly making his way past out the door. As he slipped by Peter he casually whispered to go on without him and that he would catch up later. He ended his message with a wink and firm pat on the back.

Peter stopped and wondered for a moment. Why did Neal get all the girls? Why did God grant charm and good looks to all the criminals? Why had he even agreed to along with this? Last time he checked, Neal had already given him a picture to use for his Christmas card, or at least until Neal had broken the frame and proceeded to bleed all over the damn place.

After awhile, he broke out of his thoughts and realized exactly the situation he was in. He was now stuck in a small, cramped, run-down animal shelter, in the dead of winter, alone with an innumerable number of loud, bouncy puppy-dogs and a fat, old man dressed in red. And Neal had just lifted his keys. . .


	10. The Ninth Box

AN: 2 Things- 1. I'm going away Friday and Saturday, but I swear I'll do some double post or something sometime to make up for it. 2. My brother did this chapter. He talked, I typed, but he was inspired by how I actually shop. Naturally, I'm Peter. Blame him for suckishness.

* * *

Peter was surprised to find today that the advent calender held not a tangible object, but a day out with Neal...shopping...for clothes. Ugh.

Of course when Neal had first told Peter of his ridiculous plan, Peter had rejected much preferring to stay at the office however boring it may be, but Neal had already consulted Elizabeth and she'd been all for the day. If Peter returned with no new clothes, she'd have his head.

So there they were, standing inside some random, overly expensive, fashion store. Neal was entirely absorbed in the the wide variety of clothing and cute women while Peter stood awkwardly in the corner. To him, clothing was for function not fashion and he couldn't understand why everyone felt the need to spend ridiculous amounts of money to keep up with the latest trends, which all tended to look alike to Peter. The differences usually coming down to stitch count and shade of white.

After what seemed like an eternity of inspecting a row of suits (all of which looked exactly the same), Neal selected something. Peter didn't really like the look of it, but was willing to do anything to get out of that store as fast as possible.

Quickly, Peter began making his way to the counter, eager to check-out. After about five steps he realized Neal was still standing where he was before giving Peter a very odd, what-are-you-doing look.

Peter stood and stared for a moment before Neal gestured towards the dressing rooms.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Come on, Neal. This is men's clothing. We don't have to try stuff on. Everything comes in very specific sizes and as long as you know yours you never have to worry about whether stuff fits or not."

It was Neal's turn to roll his eyes. He was just about to counter-argue too, when one of the counter ladies noticed the two just standing there arguing and came over. In less than twenty seconds the woman had asked them if they required help, told them of the all the sales, explained the sizing chart, and pointed out the restrooms. Peter's eye twitched slightly.

Soon Neal and talky-lady where in a rapid-fire discussion on all things fashionable. Peter could hardly understand a word they said and next thing he knew they'd taken him by the hands and shoved him into the nearest changing room.

The room was small, cramped, and full of mirrors. Like Peter really wanted to watch himself undress. Nonetheless, he did just that, and before he'd even begun to undo his pants the attend was knocking on the door asking if he was done. He replied no and quickly hurried to finish.

Peter stepped out of the room. Neal and the attendant person immediately grabbed him, spun him around, fired off some comments too quick to make out, and shoved him back into the small room with a new set of clothes.

The entire process repeated itself multiple times. Peter had lost count of how many times he'd been forced to change and simply excepted his fate. He zoned the entire store out and let Neal carefully push him from one stage to the next.

Finally, they seemed to be done and Peter was pushed once again by Neal. Luckily, this time it was out of the store.

When Peter finally returned home, he went straight to the couch and crumbled upon it. Elizabeth emerged from the other room and greeted her husband exclaiming how great his new suit looked. Peter managed a weak smile and laid back down on the soft, puffy cushions. Elizabeth giggled at the sight of the exhausted man and said on a parting note, "Give me your old suit sometime today so I can take it to the dry cleaners, okay?"

And with that came the image of Peter's original clothing sitting, just sitting, on the dressing room floor.


	11. The Tenth And Eleventh Box

AN: I apologize for the utter suckishness of this chapter. I was just snowboarding and ended up spending most of Saturday stuck in various snowdrifts and ditches. Stupid tree came outta no where. . .

* * *

The tenth box could very well have been the most surprising one of all. Although it had absolutely nothing to do with Christmas.

It was a dreidel. A small, plastic dreidel played with during Hanukkah. You know, the kind you can get in ten-packs at the dollar store. It was exactly the kind of thing Neal would love to play with, and the best part is – you can't cheat at dreidel. It's a solid object controlled entirely by chance.

And so within minutes they'd struck up a game of intense dreidel betting with chocolate coins Neal had spontaneously pulled from his pocket.

And within another few minutes, Neal had won.

They played again. Neal won.

And again. Neal won.

Neal won.

Neal won.

It didn't seem to matter who Neal played, or if he started with fewer coins, he still won. Somehow, in a game of pure luck and chance, Neal had all the skill.

Peter left the office that day frustrated. Neal was a felon, for heaven's sake, but for whatever reason God still favored him!

The next day, Peter was even more surprised to open the advent calender and find four dreidels, identical to yesterdays, fall out of their box and roll onto Peter's desk. One landed on nun, one on gimel, one on hay, and the last on shin. Peter stared at the plastic toys for a moment, thinking how odd it was no two landed on the same sign. Quickly, though he moved on and pushed the toys to the side. It wasn't until his lunch break when he noticed, once again, none were on the same sign as another. Peter stood there in a sudden moment of realization before storming out of his office to find Neal and redeem his chocolate coins.

Apparently you can cheat chance. . .


	12. Mistletoe

AN: 'Cuz humor fails me ('course so does romance). . .

**

* * *

Peter's POV**

Stupid mistletoe's everywhere. On the door to my house, on the doors at the mall, in the advent calender.

Stupid Neal coming out of nowhere. Roping his delicate hands through my hair. Soft and careful, but firm and strong from years of being on the run and time spent in jail.

Stupid winter, being cold and all. Craving the warmth and comfort of a comrade.

Stupid Neal for being that comrade. For putting us in this situation to begin with. For being so perfect. For being so _right_.

Stupid Neal. Turning away. Leaving me. Alone.


	13. Cookies

AN: Somewhat true story. . .

* * *

The last thing Elizabeth expected to find when she returned home was two grown men lying on the floor covered in flour, sugar, and sprinkles laughing their heads off as they munched on the black remains of Christmas cookies. Yep, she definitely didn't see that one coming.

So flashback about five minutes prior to Elizabeth's arrival. Somehow Neal had convinced Peter to let him come over so they could bake cookies together. They had semi-successfully made peanut-butter blossoms and were now attempting the shaped sugar cookies. Neal had jokingly made a Peter cookie, complete with bad fashion sense and a grumpy face. They stuck the cookies in the oven and began to wait.

"Uh, Peter," Neal said after awhile.

Peter only rolled his eyes and responded, "Just be patient. They'll be done in five minutes."

"No, seriously," panic rising in his voice.

"Just wait."

"Peter!"

"What!"

"You're on fire!"

And thus the mayhem ensued. The Peter cookie had, literally, two inch flames coming from its head. The real Peter very well could have, he was in such a panic. A lot of craziness, two cups of water, and a much needed fire extinguisher later, the fire was out. That's when Elizabeth arrived.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of her kitchen in such a mess. Quickly, Peter stood and embraced his wife. He handed her a cookie in which she replied, "Oh, wow, Peter. It looks like Satchmo. How cute!" Elizabeth then proceeded to turn and leave, immediately forgetting about the destroyed kitchen.

From behind, Neal laughed to himself. "Good job, your Christmas trees look like shaggie dogs. You should really consider a career in art, or maybe cake making. I could see you being real good at the Flaming Alaskas," he joked. Little did he know, that wasn't the Christmas tree.

Peter cried inwardly. His own wife thought he was a dog!


	14. Sugar Plums

a/n: TIME WARP! I'm back, everyone! Yes, I realize it has indeed been a year, and I realize this whole concept has gone to heck because of it, but this year it will meet it's end! Mwahahaha. And yes, I also realize there is _another_ White Collar Advent Calender. But that's okay, because we're the original and we're awesome! Anyway, I'm keeping with the original time line (a.k.a Kate and Mozzie aren't dead), and I apologize that any underlying story I had going has been lost in translation. Plus, I'm a bit rusty. Haven't written in forever. Not to mention, WC has been on break for months. Who's the main character again?

p.s. I got more pie ;D  


* * *

The first thing Peter did when he entered the office was reach for the infamous calender. It was now the 14th day of December and Peter couldn't begin to image what else Neal had thought up. As soon as things had gotten as weird as possible the next box contained an even stranger odyssey. Nonetheless, Peter tore the small cardboard flap to reveal the next installment of insane-holiday-mini-gifts Neal edition.

_Great, more tickets to boring art shows. _The sports-minded FBI agent grumbled as he unfurled a wad of papers from the calender. Tempted to simply shred the useless 'garbage' in the cool new, industrial-sized shredder when a few large, sparkly letters caught his eye:

**We present to you this holiday season THE NUTCRACKER musical.**

Coincidentally, everyone's favorite ex-convict walked in just then. With a little nod, he commented "Best one around. I see it every year. Except when I was in jail. Apparently Broadway doesn't encompass correctional facilities. Too bad, I really feel as though that place could have used a bit more art. You know?"

"Stop right there, partner" Peter glared. "I'm not going." Neal was stunned. "What? Basketball's on. Now _that _I could watch every year."

Caffrey looked wounded. "Peter. I honestly have no idea how I manage to work with you."

"That should be my line."

Deflated, Neal flopped into the chair across from Peter's desk looking depressed. Suddenly, a smile spread across his face. "I bet Elizabeth would appreciate the art of dancing sugar plums."

With a stern look Peter shot that whole idea down. Apparently there was some HUGE sale at the mall, like black-friday huge if black-friday was on steroids, that El just couldn't miss.

Neal sighed and begrudgingly grabbed his copy of the case file. Dragging his feet all the way to his desk on the lower-level.

-HOURS-LATER-

"You mean he just said no? ... Basketball! Who wants to watch a bunch of freakishly tall giants run around like ants on fire throwing a ball through some flimsy hoop? ... Not even for sugar plums? Wow. That's an iron-clad will. Maybe he should be a spy. No one could ever flip him, and-"

"Mozzie?"

"Yeah?"

"I get it."

"I'm just saying th-"

"I know."

"..."

"..."

"Hey, this is about the edge of your radius right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Small-talk."

"..."

"..."

"No offense, Moz, I love ya, but it's kind of weird going to see the Nutcracker with another man."

"You know, saying no offense doesn't make it any less offensive."

"Don't tell me you don't wish Elizabeth was here."

"I can neither affirm nor deny-"

"Wait. Do you hear that?"

"Dude, we're in the middle of New York. Yes, I hear it. Care to enlighten me as to _what_ _exactly _I'm hearing."

"Sirens."

-A-FEW-MORE-HOURS-LATER-

"Caffrey." Some unknown agent spoke with a harsh tone, clearly one of those still of the impression Neal should not have been released, leash or no. Neal himself sat mildly-peeved at a desk, hands resting cuffed in front of him. Mozzie had last been seen when they had entered the station, cuffed and dragged like wet dogs through the doors.

"I swear. I was just going to a play, that's all. Call Agent Peter Burke if you don't believe me."

Agent-X remained standing. Suddenly turning around, spitting out words in Neal's intensely-annoyed face. "We already did. He isn't answering-"

"He's at the basketball-"

"Shut up!"

The extremely-ticked ex-con immediately shut his mouth, awaiting the next move and praying they could at least make it for the final act.

-MEANWHILE-

Burke jumped up quickly, screaming and cheering for his favorite team who'd just taken an amazing shot to tie the game. After the excitement he turned to Jones. "I feel like I'm missing something. You know?"

"Nah, don't worry about. It'll probably solve itself."

"Yeah, you're right."

-EVEN-MORE-HOURS-LATER(next day, actually)-

Neal trudged into the office a few hours late. His hair was a mess and large bags hung under his eyes. It was clear his clothes had not yet seen the wash. He stumbled straight to Peter's desk.

With a sudden moment of realization and a tiny smirk, the agent asked "So, how 'bout those sugar plums?"

Neal glared daggers. "I hate you."

"And a happy New Year."


	15. Falling Asleep

a/n: Sorry, very short. But bear with me. Things are a bit complicated what with half the calender opened last year, so there will probably be a bunch of two-parters and no-box days till things get evened out. Till then, here is a little cheat sheet:  
Date in Story: December 15, 2009  
Boxes Opened: 14

* * *

"I'm not talking to you, " a grumpy Neal mumbled. He sat pouting in the corner chair in Peter's office while his "partner" took joy in yesterday's misfortune.

Peter laughed, shrugged, and continued typing on his laptop. Minutes passed and the room was awfully quiet. The FBI agent glanced up from his screen to see his young partner asleep in the chair, head back, eyes closed, arms hanging limp over the sides.

Logically, Peter had three options, well four if you counted doing nothing, but as a member of the force, Agent Burke couldn't even begin to imagine #4 as a choice. You don't choose it. There is no decision making there. It just happens, and saying otherwise is like claiming gravity is optional.

Anyway, options: 1) Wake him up and berate him for sleeping on the job. 2) Take pictures as blackmail or for a lovely Christmas card. 3) Jokes, pranks, and general torment.

Typically, Burke was a #1 kind of guy, but Neal was anything but typical, and such perfect, opportune moments for torment are once-in-a-lifetime. #3 it is.

Peter began to rise, but the "adolescent" (Peter really couldn't imagine such a cute, innocent person being an adult. He just didn't have that kind of mature character) stirred slightly. Everything seemed to freeze, and all through the office not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

After what a highly-trained government agent deemed an appropriate amount of time, Peter let out a long, exasperated sigh. _I'm going to need to recruit some help if I want to do this right_. He thought while quietly sneaking out the glass door not noticing the stubby, bald window washer descending down to the height of his office right behind him.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	16. Shut Up and Eat Your Mashed Potatoes

a/n: First, little bit of a multi-chapter drama thrown in to mix-up the one-shot comedy, which we'll see more of later. Secondly, there's a secret (not really secret since I'm telling you) message here. If you take the fourth letter (last if there's three or fewer) of every 7th word (starting with 'Video'), and you'll find a hidden message. Seriously try it. It took forever to write. Nevertheless, enjoy and review when you find the answer :D  
Date: December 15, 2009  
Boxes opened: 14

* * *

"Video camera?"

"Check"

"Charged battery?"

"Check"

"Duct tape?"

"Uh,"  
"Seriously?"

"No, wait, I got it."

"Sedatives?"

"Check."

"How much?"

"The standard dose."

"Half-it. Trust me."

"'Kay I'm ready"

"Well then, everyone knows the plan?"

"Check"

"Check"

"Let's do this!" An overly-excited agent Burke cried. His team of three, comprised of himself and two of his best agents: Diane and Jones, got into formation. Peter had already once witnessed the hilarity of Caffrey high on drugs, and it was awesome. As an agent, Peter had seen many things, but that had by far been the best. If their lives had not been in immediate danger, we'd all be watching an on-line video of Neal like the next "Charlie bit my finger." The team was dressed in the usual business suits making the scene comically formal.

"1...2...3...Charge!" Rang the battle cry. Jones dashed in first, a roll of duck tape sticking out of his holster. Diane was right behind with the sedatives, and Burke took up the rear armed with a Canon SF300 camcorder.

-MUCH-MUCH-LATER-

"Woud you maurry mei?"

"Eat your potatoes."

"Peter!" Elizabeth yelled and slapped her husband's hand. "It's your fault anyway."

The FBI agent grumbled and muttered "How is it my fault? This started at like 8 am. Any normal human being would be coherent by now!"

"I-I like potatoes."

"Shut up Neal"

Another slap from Elizabeth. "I think he's kinda cute like this. Maybe I should drug you sometime."

Peter sighed and dug his spoon deeper into the mashed vegetable. Bringing Neal home, sane or not, was a bad idea. Even with the brain capacity of a three year-old his ex-con partner could still manage to commit what Peter thought of as mental adultery to his wife.

"I lluve yew."

Burke rolled his eyes and Neal looked momentarily like a kicked puppy, but that wasn't unusual for the former con man. El responded for her husband "Don't worry about that Grinch. He secretly loves you too, but he'd never admit it," she smiled at Neal.

"I hav uh secrit tou"

"Yes, Caffrey, you've already told us about how you named your tracking anklet Candy. It's not really a secret when you sing it at the top of your lungs for twenty-minutes straight in a crowded office, officially getting us kicked out for the day."

Burke was about to stand up to leave when Caffrey stopped him somehow. "No, no, no, no, no." Peter rolled his eyes. Again. "I hav uh deffrent secrit four yew." The criminal leaned upwards to whisper in his partner's ear.

...

_Longest secret ever_ thought Elizabeth.

...

Silence hung over the room so thick you could taste it in the gravy. Elizabeth watched the exchange in fun anticipation, but made a judgment call based off Peter's expression to remain still and silent.

After a God's moment, or a million years to mortals, Peter grabbed Neal's shoulders sharply. The smaller man winced, and with a stern "Get up..." rose to his shaky feet. Looking each other eye to eye the four words that forever haunt the former criminal creep past his "friends" lips.

"...you're going to jail."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	17. Ladron's Story

a/n: Hopefully no one fell for my little trick last chapter. As you can see I got a bit carried away in this chapter. Anyway, be excited because tomorrow we return to the comedy, the advent calender, and an explanation as to what-the-crap is going on with Peter and Neal. Plus, Mozzie will make a brief entrance. (note this is subject to change).  
Date: December 15-16, 2009  
Boxes Opened: 14

* * *

The city block crept by in the slow fashion of urban traffic. Peter sat angrily in the driver's seat with both hands in a death grip over the steering wheel. He was in a bad mood and the erratic driving made it well known to all. His "partner", Neal Caffrey, sat partially incapacitated in the back seat. Peter never thought he would get an opportunity to use the pre-installed child lock.

"Peter..." The younger man whined.

Sitting at a traffic light the FBI agent turned around and declared "Neal, I don't care that your completely out of your mind right now, and it's basically, okay entirely, my doing, but I can't trust you anymore. Even high on sedatives, I have to assume what you told me was true, and unless you want to end our little deal, and frankly I don't, you'd better start explaining and soon."

There was a moment of silence. Finally, Neal continued "My head hurts."

"Good, it means the drugs are finally wearing off."

"Peter?"

"Yeah." It didn't have the usual friendly tone, but a sharp, professional one.

"I'm sorry."

Peter didn't reply. Instead he let his eyes close and suppressed the urge to return the apology. Their relationship was like a puzzle; easy to break apart, not so easy to piece together again. It seemed to Peter the final piece never quite fit for them.

Snow began to drift down around the car and Neal again broke the silence. "Do you remember what it was like to be in first grade? When the first snow fell? How excited everyone was?"

The light turned green and the car began to inch forward. "What are you getting at?"

"I had this friend, best friend actually, a total kleptomaniac, called Ladrón. That wasn't his real name, we just called him that because he stole this beautiful new pink eraser from this Spanish kid and the title sort of stuck. He was sort of my 'theft mentor'. You know I didn't meet my 'forgery mentor' till sixth. But anyway, it was the first snow-fall and he really wanted to go sledding. None of us had ever gone sledding before, we live in the middle of the city, and you can't exactly go sledding through downtown. Both his parents worked full-time so he had no one to drive him to the country-side either. I suppose because of the snow the baby-sitter was running late, she didn't have a car to take him herself, and Ladrón was so young and adventurous, he wasn't really thinking-"

Another red light. "Why are you telling me this?" Peter asked.

"-His dad worked at some warehouse. I guess he thought he could use one of the boxes as a sled, 'cuz you know we didn't have any of those. Anyway, he'd been there before. He got there fine, but apparently the company had recently changed buildings. At this point the baby-sitter realized the child she was suppose to be watching wasn't there and had already called the police-"

A frown covered Peter's face. He sensed a feeling of disturbia coming from Neal but held his questions in.

"-I don't really know what happened after that. Whether he'd gotten lost returning home or had wandered the streets in search of his father, but, this started on a Tuesday, it wasn't until Friday, in the middle of the school day that they found him. I'm not sure where, no one ever told me those details, but that Sunday all of the little school kids in our class, even the Spanish child, dressed up in our nicest suits and dresses and went to the funeral-"

If Neal hadn't been internally tough from years of living on the run, and time spent in jail, it was easy to see he'd be crying.

"-Another thing I didn't know. I thought Ladrón was just sick. They said he went to a different place where he would be better. A few months before this I'd been at the hospital with a broken wrist, fell off the playground, so I thought 'Hey, Ladrón must be there. I bet he'll get a really big lollipop because he's been there so long,' but when I asked my dad when he got to come home my mother began to cry, and he whispered from the front seat -we were headed to the funeral by now- that Ladrón was never coming home. He was dead."

After a moment of silence, Peter realized the story was done. He slowed to a stop, another red light, and turned to face Neal. "Why?"

Looking like a kicked puppy Neal pleaded "If your going to take me back to jail in the middle of the Christmas season for, uh, what I said then, Peter please, you have to take me to that warehouse first."

It took longer to reach this warehouse than Peter anticipated. He had imagined it was the first warehouse mentioned, the one in the city, but apparently his partner had meant the second one, the one the father's company had moved to. Turns out, this second warehouse was located far outside the city's limits. Half-way there, the FBI agent received a call from Neal's trackers, _what were their names again?, _wondering why Neal was so far outside his radius. Peter just played it off as a little mini-vacation. "Yeah, we're just going to drive out a bit, see the country-side," He had lied. "Stay over night, and then come home. You know, change of pace." He hung the phone up and told his partner how lucky he was. To keep the lie going (Neal was rubbing off on him) they'd have to stay out over night at least.

By the time they reached this warehouse it was so late, and the snow was falling so hard, and the warehouse was _so _far out in the middle of nowhere, Peter made a judgment call not to head back to the small town they had passed thorough to rent a motel room.

"I have blankets in the trunk. We can sleep in the car, and tomorrow we'll talk. Okay?" He asked, but when he turned around Neal was already fast asleep in the back.

- -DECEMBER-16TH-2009- -

"Peter? Peter, wake up!" Neal called and shook his partner who groaned and rubbed his eyes open.

"What?" Burke moaned half-asleep. "Just let me sleep a little longer."

"Ignoring the fact that you sound like a little kid not wanting to wake up to go to school," Caffrey explained "we're stuck. Snow's up to the windows. It'll be days before we get out of here." Noticing his phone, he quickly added, "and at&t doesn't have coverage over warehouses containing illegal acquired merchandise."

Oops, Peter Burke is awake now.


	18. Deja Vu

a/n: Wow, Nicole, way to use the same joke twice. You fail at humor. Actually, your worse than fail, you're not worthy of such a title. Instead, you just suck.  
Self-loathing rant over...Enjoy!  
Also, we've just reached 10,000 words! Kanpai!  
Date: December 16, 2009  
Boxes Opened: 15

* * *

"Peter, I don't want to alarm you, but I think in order to survive, we are going to have to eat Candy."

The two FBI agents of varying degrees had been trapped in the small car for about an hour now debating what to do. After this bizarre and annoying comment by Neal, who was getting quite antsy (he always hated the van), Peter decided they would have to leave the car. They couldn't walk to the nearest town because it was nearly 30 miles away, and while both field operatives could make the trip, it wouldn't have been pleasant, but at least getting out and into the fresh air would help eave nerves for awhile. Maybe they could get around to poking about this mysterious warehouse while they're at it.

So together they climbed out through the sun roof (boy, was that a sight to see) and made their way to the warehouse. The door was nearly frozen shut, so it took their combined effort to force it ope-

"Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle All The Way!" A loud symphony of voices echoed out.

Peter turned to look at Neal. "This is all bullshit, isn't it?"

With his trademark smile, the former convict answer "Its not bullshit. Its Christmas."

"So... how long?"

"About dinner time."

The choir started up a fast-past version of "Away in a Manager." And Peter continued "So all of it. Completely faked, uh? The story, Ladrón, Kate, Mozzie..."

"Not unless you count that dead one on the floor*." Neal said pointing to a small mosquito, indeed dead, just inside the warehouse doors. "And I can't believe you actually believed any of that. Aren't FBI agents trained to like never trust anyone?"

A moment of angry silence passed of listening to the well-rehearsed choir before Peter added. "Did you really have to have it done in the middle of literally nowhere?"

"Only the best for you, Peter."

-HOURS-LATER-

"You realize the hourly rate still applies." The head singer stated, but Neal simply shrugged too cold for his usual chivalry.

Suddenly, Neal had an idea. "Let's open another box from the calender. Maybe Moz put something useful in it. He asked to fill it up for me today."

Peter stood up and walked out of the warehouse to retrieve it from his car. He'd casually thrown it in the trunk to avoid forgetting to open it and potentially missing out on an awesome prize. Technically, it was already a whole day late, but it was much too cold to care. When he returned, he placed the box in the center of the circle made of choir girls and Neal who reached forwards to open it.

Fsssssshhh. A soft hissing-type noise could faintly be heard before PUFF! the entire box caught fire. _Oh my god, Mozzie. _Peter thought angrily_._ Small flames engulfed the dates printed on the boxes and drew nearer to the little doodle of Peter Neal had drawn in the corner during a moment of boredom in the office. Finally, it's tiny head caught fire and literally two-inch flames came off. Noticing, one of the singers commented "Oh, no, the little doggie's on fire!"

"Wow. Deja vú"

* * *

*Mozzie is Australian for mosquito.


End file.
